“These damned goblins! Where the hell are they hiding?!”
Sir Garland trampled innocent weeds in frustration, while the inner court knights beside him kept their mouths shut, maintaining silence.
They, too, knew nothing about the habits of the vile green monsters that roamed Garam Forest.
“Summer’s almost here! There’s no word of them attacking nearby villages, so what, did they slip out of Garam Forest without anyone noticing? Why can’t we see a single one?!”
Garland was at a loss, faced with a reality far different from his expectations.
The outskirts of Garam Forest.
Every year, as spring wanes, a routine extermination event is held to reduce the goblin population thriving in the forest.
The fact that the Border Count’s eldest son was appointed as the supreme commander of this goblin extermination was to prepare him for potential “real combat” in the future.
Combat experience against the “Demon Army” that might one day invade was crucial for the young heir to the Border Count title.
And for the rookie knights and freshly conscripted soldiers, too.
But his first taste of real combat was nothing like what the young man had hoped for.
Far from it.
He almost wished for a life-or-death battle, because not a single monster could be found in Garam Forest.
Only a few ordinary wild animals roamed about.
“They said goblins were swarming this forest, so where the hell did they all go? We can’t go back empty-handed! If they suddenly show up after we return, the citizens won’t be able to live in peace!”
“Absolutely correct, Sir Garland.”
“Well said, Sir Moric! I heard you’ve carried out several operations with my father. Any good ideas?”
“I’m working on it…”
“I’m counting on you. But we need to exterminate them as quickly as possible. We can’t keep this many troops sitting around doing nothing. Understood?”
“Understood, Sir Garland.”
Sir Moric, a knight trusted by the Border Count, looked at the flushed, impatient “future Border Count.”
Garland was the supreme commander of this goblin extermination, but he was lacking in every way.
Having faced the real Demon Army in the past, Sir Moric quietly slipped out of the tent, avoiding Garland, who was busy berating others.
Garland had skill, loyalty, and affection for Mosul’s citizens, but he was still green.
He’ll learn bit by bit that reality differs from theory.
Moric headed toward the Black Tail Mercenaries’ tent, set up at a distance from their own.
As soon as he approached, the acting mercenary leader greeted him with a broad smile.
“Ah, Sir Moric. You’re here? The stew’s ready… care for some?”
“I’ll gratefully accept, Lord Paramir.”
“Heh, food always tastes better out in the open like this, right, Furdwal?”
“You said it.”
Sir Moric observed Paramir, casually mingling with the “tail-waggers” (a derogatory term for beastmen).
He was human.
A human in the beastman-only Black Tail Mercenaries? And acting leader, no less?
The Black Tail Mercenaries, led by the tiger beastman Surabar, were famous enough in Mosul that even someone like Moric, who worked in the inner court, had heard of them.
They were said to hunt any monster without fail.
Moric had heard that everyone in the Black Tail Mercenaries was a beastman. So, a human?
And the fact that these fierce, rough tail-waggers followed his orders so willingly was astonishing.
Moric knew well that in the Human Empire, beastmen faced discrimination but also looked down on humans themselves.
Yet this human, Paramir, seemed completely at ease among them, even earning their respect.
The fact that he was acting leader shattered Moric’s preconceptions about these races.
“Here, here, eat up. The worse things go, the better you need to eat and relax. We never know when we’ll kick the bucket, right?”
“I’ll eat gratefully. I’m learning from you, Paramir.”
“Lord? Just call me Paramir, Sir Moric.”
“Then I’ll eat gratefully, Paramir.”
Moric pulled a wide spoon from his pocket, wiped it roughly, and scooped up the stew.
Compared to the rock-hard preserved rations, it was incomparably delicious and rich in flavor.
It won’t matter if I’m gone for a bit.
Garland probably wouldn’t even notice his absence.
There were plenty of sycophants inside and outside the tent eager to curry favor with the “future Border Count.”
Whether the soldiers wasted time or not, Moric just wanted this boring, pointless goblin extermination to end.
He knew that even if they returned to the castle without results, the Border Count’s eldest son wouldn’t face any real consequences.
Tasty.
The stew had plenty of meat and was heavily salted, giving it a rich flavor. The bowl emptied quickly.
Seeing the empty dish, Paramir grinned mischievously and asked, “Another bowl?”
“…Please.”
Paramir’s cheeky smile felt a bit overwhelming, but Moric’s stomach was honest.
The main force, including Moric, was starving because they hadn’t had a proper meal.
Not for any grand reason—just a lack of proper cooks.
The main force had many freshly conscripted soldiers, causing issues with field cooking.
Part of why Sir Garland (who insisted on being called that) was so irritable since early morning might be the lack of decent meals.
Eating rock-hard rations and going hungry meant a sharp drop in combat strength.
…Anyway, Moric found himself quietly fond of Paramir and these tail-waggers, who treated him, a knight, so casually and warmly.
It’s human nature to warm up to those who feed you, whether you’re a knight or a stray alley cat.
“It looks like things aren’t going well, Sir Moric.”
Paramir glanced at the main force while serving another bowl of stew.
Moric felt a twinge of shame but couldn’t deny the harsh reality of the “Border Count’s pathetic army.”
The fastest way to solve a problem is to acknowledge it first.
Moric was old but not foolish.
“Just as you see. Our young, promising supreme commander is at a loss for how to handle this situation.”
He was too old to let pride get in the way. Early mornings, old wounds from the battlefield ached, making it hard to claim he wasn’t old.
Even now, his joints were stiff.
Camping out at his age? Maybe it was past time to retire…
The young ones, believing their rule would last forever alongside the future Border Count, wouldn’t understand, but Moric knew power, wealth, and strength all fade like the rising and setting sun.
“Hm… time to earn our keep, I guess.”
“…?”
Hup. Paramir stood from the rock he’d been using as a chair, stretching.
Moric was puzzled, not understanding what he meant.
Earn their keep? How?
The goblins’ absence from Garam Forest wasn’t due to some grand reason.
Their population didn’t dwindle for no reason after the winter.
They weren’t gone—they were hiding.
Having scouted the main force’s size and armaments from afar, the goblins likely went into hiding.
They didn’t want to die, after all.
They must know their numbers, weakened after winter, couldn’t handle this many troops.
Goblins are keenly aware of their place and cunning enough not to attack opponents they deem dangerous.
Clanking plate armor, razor-sharp swords that could cleave bone, long spears carried by soldiers, and a warhorse for every man.
If any goblin attacked this force, it’d either be drugged or insane.
“Like last time, our guys haven’t been able to shine on this mission. It’s about time we moved to help Sir Garland achieve the ‘merits’ he wants.”
“What do you mean…?”
“We’ve got a lot of mouths to feed. Dragging this out pointlessly is a loss. We need to finish this and get back to the city for a beer.”
With that, Paramir strode toward the main force’s command tent.
What the… Moric was speechless but followed Paramir back to the tent he’d slipped out of.
Flap! The scene inside, as he entered, was utterly pitiful.
“…Good gods.”
Moric sighed.
Sir Garland and his loyal followers were forcing down rock-hard bread.
***
“You know where the goblins are? Why are you only saying this now…!”
“Calm down, calm down. If you exhaust yourself before the fight, you might get hurt when you don’t need to, Sir Garland.”
“…Speak.”
The next day.
Sir Garland, who hadn’t found even a trace of a goblin, was far less spirited than before.
Naturally.
As a knight and the great heir to Mosul’s Border Count, leading soldiers all the way to Garam Forest only to return without results? How could he face anyone?
He needed some kind of achievement, no matter how small.
The arrogant noble demeanor from the first day was long gone.
Whether the rope offered was rotten or sturdy, Garland had no choice but to grab it.
Every day wasted burned through an enormous amount of money.
Sending some soldiers back to the city for supplies would… not end well.
The Border Count of Mosul was known to be strict with everyone, be it his son, others, or himself.
Ahem, ahem! After clearing my throat, thickened from the deer-meat stew, I stalled before the anxious heir to the Border Count.
Well… it’s like… you see…
“Don’t dawdle and speak, man. What should we do, Lord Paramir?”
And just like that, “Lord” slipped out of Sir Garland’s mouth.
The man who yesterday radiated disdain for even speaking with me was now humbling himself—it was almost funny.
Ahem, ahem! I cleared my throat again and finally got to the point.
I wanted to ask for more pay, but with no results yet and those sycophants glaring daggers beside him, it’d only stir resentment, so I decided to hold off.
The work was already done anyway. …Well, not by me, but by Furdwal and Tenok.
“I’ve already set things in motion. By noon, the goblins will come charging at us like mad.”
“What?!”
“Doing something like that without consulting us?!”
“Not knowing how many goblins are hiding in Garam Forest, and you’re luring them out? Do you realize how dangerous that is?!”
“You dare act on your own without consulting Sir Garland?!”
Blah, blah, blah. It was a noisy mess.
I plugged my ears with my fingers and closed my eyes, ignoring their chatter.
Mmm, this calm, this silence. Moments like these are the best.
“Lord Paramir!”
My small, precious peace was shattered as Sir Garland grabbed and shook my shoulders.
His panicked expression showed no trace of the arrogance born of his knightly status or social rank.
Beside him, the idiots squawking like sparrows were still making a racket.
I took a deep breath and let it out like a cannon shot.
“Quiet!!”
At my shout, not only Sir Garland but also the chirping fools shut their mouths.
Their dumbstruck faces suited them perfectly.
I gently brushed off the sweaty hand of the man still gripping my shoulder.
“What are we doing camping here for two days? Weren’t you here to exterminate goblins? Get it together. Look at the armor you’re wearing. Think a goblin’s claws could even scratch it? Are you that scared of those pint-sized goblins?”
Sir Moric, watching from behind, and even Garland’s “close friends” all shut their mouths and avoided my gaze.
Garland forced himself to meet my eyes briefly before lowering his head.
“…You’re right, Lord Paramir. I acted ignorantly and foolishly. I apologize.”
But then he raised his head and met my gaze confidently.
He’s starting to look a bit like a man? Not bad.
His face still had the greenness of a rookie, but his eyes were impressive.
My opinion of Sir Garland improved slightly.
If this were a game, it’d be like: [Sir Garland’s favorability +3!] Something like that.
“We need to prepare. Will you help, Lord Paramir?”
“Of course, Sir Garland.”
Ahem, ahem… As Sir Garland, the supreme commander of the extermination force, showed me respect, the gazes of those around naturally shifted to treating me as a superior.
Some still hadn’t caught on, but none were bold enough to openly complain.
“They’ll likely come charging around noon. Until then, we just need to set traps to slow them down. It won’t be hard.”
At my words, Sir Garland, Sir Moric, and even the useless loudmouths nodded as if entranced.
Pointing to a simplified terrain map, I explained how things would go—this way, that way—and they nodded eagerly, looking like diligent students, almost making me laugh.
“Understood. We trust you, Lord Paramir. What should we prepare?”
Sir Garland asked, his young face brimming with eagerness to return to the city with a mountain of goblin heads and earn his father’s praise.
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